The Monroe Affair
by Cardinal Robbins
Summary: SVU AU Conspiracy theorist John Munch gets the surprise of his life on Valentine's Day, when Sarah Zelman leaves a rather curious-looking file hidden in his desk. How will John react when he realizes what it is he's been given?


"The Monroe Affair"

by Cardinal Robbins

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Disclaimer: Munch isn't mine, but he wasn't invented by Dick Wolf, either. Zelman is mine, even though her heart belongs to John.

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It was well past seven in the evening, certainly past end of watch for John Munch. It was Saturday, the fourteenth of February, a day every red-blooded American male was making nice to their sweetheart with flowers, chocolates, dinner and champagne in hopes of getting lucky before the night ended.

Yet, here he was at the precinct, finishing up paperwork for Captain Cragen after everyone else had gone home. So much for rank having its privileges; his sergeant's stripes ensuring if there was something left to be done, it was his obligation to comply. He wanted to be cuddled next to a warm, feminine body just like every other man in the NYPD – specifically he craved time with Sarah Zelman, his partner. She'd been out of the house most of the day, trying to coerce a witness to the Malinsky rape case to come forward and tell what they knew about the assailant.

Ready to pack it in for the night, he reached down into his lower left file drawer for a moment. Instead of immediately coming in contact with his Glock, which was kept concealed directly in front of his files, his hand felt something covered in a single sheet of tissue paper. Pulling it out of the drawer, he looked at it curiously, the sheet of red paper not quite hiding the note inside.

He tore the wrapping gently and extracted the message, pulled from a pad of yellow sticky notes. "Silver-haired sergeants are hot," was all it said, written in Sarah's best scrawl. He grinned, his cheeks reddening slightly, wondering when she'd had time to hide what looked like a very thick catalog in his drawer. Probably at lunch, when he'd stepped out for a quick sandwich at the local deli, he mused.

John looked closer at the document, its cover a medium-brown card-weight paper, the kind you'd find in offices from the 1960's. The collection was bound with brass brads, the same card stock on the back as for the front cover. His fingertip traced over faint gold lettering, before he adjusted his desk lamp to see it more clearly. It said simply, "Monroe Files."

He looked puzzled for a moment, turned to the first page and it was then his heart stood still. As he flipped through the pages, he realized in his hands was the entire investigation of John F. Kennedy's affair with Marilyn Monroe – not one single word redacted, nothing crossed out, no omissions, simply everything he always wanted to know about Monroe's life and death in regard to JFK himself. Beneath his gray pin-striped shirt, John felt the flesh on his arms turn to goosebumps. After a sharp intake of breath, he looked at the framed photo of JFK on his desk and shook his head. So, it was true; the connection hadn't been entirely fueled by the popular press in the 1960s. There _had_ been a plot to silence America's sex symbol and he held the proof in his hands!

Munch hastily grabbed his weapon from the file drawer, secured it in his belt holster and snapped the guard over it. He folded the note, put it in his pocket, then hurriedly got into his coat and fedora. He was relieved there was no need to stop for roses and sparkling wine on his way home, instead he could head straight to Zelman's condo with her gift to him.

Forty-five minutes later, he unlocked Sarah's door, the first thing out of his mouth, "How did you get this?" He held the report at arm's length, as if he were gazing upon the Holy Grail.

Sarah laughed, enjoying the incredulous expression on his handsome features. "I have friends in low places," she replied, giving him a mischievous wink.

"You're better connected with the Bureau than you've ever told me," he said, hesitantly laying the object of his curiosity on the dining room table, lest it disappear before his very eyes. "You definitely have some pretty heavy contacts in the CIA to pull this one off," he insisted.

"Well," Sarah began, drawing out the word, "I suppose I could tell you about my friends in the CIA and Secret Service, after all my years with the Bureau – but then I'd have to kill you." She laughed softly as he openly stared at her. "Seriously, John, you don't want to know. Just rest assured that's the real deal I gave you – in all its sordid, incriminating glory. I hope it's the perfect gift for my handsome conspiracy theorist partner."

"It's…it's incredible…I'm practically speechless right now." He pulled her into a breathless embrace, kissing her deeply. "What I have for you won't begin to compare to this."

"It doesn't have to, sweetheart," she assured him. "You didn't have time to shop and I didn't expect you to get me anything." Sarah sat him down at the table, where a glass of pinot noir awaited them both. "I lucked into the Monroe files, because I ran into an old buddy from the Justice Department who happened to have connections. He owed me a huge favor, which I didn't hesitate to call in."

He reached across the table to interlace his fingers in hers. "I'm touched, babe. You played your ace for my benefit." His free hand touched the cover of the report, opening it to the first page. "Everything I requested through the Freedom of Information Act was nothing but black-marked garbage. Now I have everything I've wanted to know for years." He squeezed her hand before reluctantly letting go. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," she replied, a smile on her face. "Now go over to the sofa, stretch out and read to your heart's content."

"Not before you open the box under the table." He gently nudged a hefty package toward her with his foot. "I did make time to shop – on the internet, while you slept late last weekend." He couldn't hide his smile as she reached down to pick up the parcel.

"You're pretty sneaky, John," she said with a laugh, putting the box on the table. She noticed he'd already slit open the packing tape, which left her nothing to do but open the flaps. She lifted out a beautiful basket, filled with Kama Sutra powders, oils, potions, soaps and incense. After an appreciative whistle, she said, "Oh, John…you looked at my online wish list!"

"When you're thinking of honey-strawberry passion powder, how can I resist?" He looked over some of the treats and toys, glad he and Sarah had the following day off.

She picked up a bar of French-milled lilac soap, a smile on her face. "Tell you what, I'll go take a leisurely shower with one of my gifts, while you enjoy some reading time." Sarah leaned forward as he did, both of them sharing a kiss over the table. "We can order some Chinese take-out, after which I'll thank you properly for this gorgeous collection you've come up with."

"I sense we have a long, adventurous night ahead of us," he replied, pleased he'd decided to investigate her preferences online. With a few quick clicks, he'd ensured them both a very memorable night. "I'll get on the phone, while you get into the shower."

She nodded, walking down the hall with some added pep to her step.

As John watched her leave, he considered himself the luckiest man on the planet – she not only loved his conspiracy theories, she kept them well-fed with information he'd never be able to obtain on his own. He pulled out his cellphone to hit fourteen on his speed-dial, the number for Wok Rite Inn, his attention already directed to the Monroe affair in front of him.

Red wine, some orange chicken, a night of glutting himself with previously forbidden documents…then the promise of something more, much later in the evening. John Munch allowed himself a contented sigh; he knew it was a Valentine's Day he'd remember for a lifetime.

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End file.
